We Must Live
by Idon'twriteIleak
Summary: Continuation of the One-Shot Epitaphs Aren't Last Words. WIP. When George buried his brother, part of himself was buried too. Can he find a new normal or at least a way to face everyday?


Dawn brought with it a renewed sense of resignation. Beatrice didn't open her eyes even though she was as awake and alert. Instead, she watched the light play out across her eyelids, creating an orange tint similar to when sticking a hand over a torch with the bulb lit. She could see the vasculature in the thin membrane, veins spidering out like rivers on a map. She wondered what great river they resembled the most.

These thoughts were just a diversion, a way to stall, keep the realities of life at bay for just a bit longer. She knew that one could not keep time from passing by simply not looking at a clock, but nevertheless she had smashed the one wristwatch she had owned and refused to acknowledge any others. The sun still moved across the sky despite her best efforts however and soon her eyelashes were twitching under its rays.

Ever so slowly Beatrice opened her eyes, cataloging her surroundings as much with her other four senses as with sight.

The sun streaming through the window spanned out in sun beams, rays of yellow light that reflected off the floating particles of dust in the air like morning stars. She could make out the slight musty smell in the air of dust and wood and fresh dew on blades of grass. No one had been much for cleaning lately. Stronger than the customary smell of the Burrow was a stronger scent, one that drew her attention further into the present. The smell of food cooking permeated through the floorboards and the space under the door. Molly must have gotten up long before to begin the morning routine, at least Beatrice hoped that it was still morning.

She stretched lazily, back arching off the bed like a cat as she curled back up into the sheets to try and get a few more moments of sweet respite before she would inevitably be dragged out of bed.

As she lay basking in the sunlight she took advantage of the silence to sort through her thoughts, something she rarely did recently. She found she very seldom liked what she found when she did.

Molly had thrown herself into caring for her living children full force after the death of her son. No one blamed her or tried to stop her, but each one had their doubts, waiting for the ball to drop, per say and to wake up one day to a hysterical mother and a burnt breakfast.

That's not to say that she hadn't had her moments, her days even, only that everyone grieves differently.

The one they all really worried about was George.

Although Beatrice saw him frequently enough, she thought he seldom saw her. Like an empty shell, even when he was present he was never fully there, forced to focus most of his energy on keeping the crushing weight of his grief from overwhelming him completely.

Beatrice found herself at the Burrow for that very reason, not because of the weight of her own grief, though heavy, she could bear it, but for his. For George.

She hadn't come right away. She had felt like too much of a burden, more than that, an intrusion. Those days, weeks, after the funeral the Burrow had been more a chapel than a home and she felt almost sacrilegious, like she had no right to be there. In all reality, she didn't.

But as weeks gave way to months she returned to the hallowed walls welcomed with open arms. Arms of everyone but George that is.

The moment of peace she had been able to find in those quiet early morning moments dissolved into worry and melancholy as they always did, but she thought today it had lasted just a bit longer than the day before.

Knowing she wouldn't be able to put it off any longer Beatrice slid her feet out from the sheets and into the warm summer air. Padding softly to the door she quietly made her way to the bathroom across the hall from Bill's old room that she had spent the last month as her own. Carefully manuevoring down the hall she made it past any squeaky boards and through the door without a sound. Quickly she used the toilet and washed her hands and face before slowly opening the door to a avoid the noisy hinge. She nearly started to see George on the other side.

He looked as bad as he probably felt, exhausted and grief stricken. His eyes were sunken, partially from undernourishment and partially from lack of sleep. The iris's themselves looked hollow and resigned. His hair was unkept and far too long, with a greasy quality that only occurred from neglect. Their eyes met as she appraised him with a glance.

"George." She whispered hoping to illicit a reaction. He seemed to recognize his name at some level, even if he gave no outward acknowledgement of it.

A pang of sadness cut through Beatrice's heart, not out of selfishness, although she did miss having a caring and attentive boyfriend. No, the sadness came from seeing him hurt and not being able to do anything about it.

Ever so slowly, she reached up her hand to caress his cheek, pressing her palm against his sallow cheek and resting there for a fraction of a second before falling back to her side. Her hand felt no warmer from the contact, as though his skin longer had the humanizing quality of warmth.

He remained unfazed by the interaction, if anything, more resigned. With a barely concealed sigh she moved aside for him to go into the bathroom. He walked past her into the space she opened up and closed the door. She stood there a moment, as if hoping he would come bursting out wrap his lanky arms around her, but she knew it wasn't to be so. Besides, after days without showering he would smell, not that she would mind.

She reluctantly made her way back to her, Bill's, room. She dressed for the day, not that she would really go anywhere, mostly to just feel more human, and then made her way in the direction of the aromatic smell of sausages.

The rest of the family was already gathered around the long wooden table that always seemed to fit as many as necessary. She absently wondered if it contained an expansion charm. The whole family was together, save Bill and his wife, Charlie, Percy, and of course Fred. The accompanying pang from the sheer force of missing someone struck her at the thought. She wondered at what point it would go away, if ever.

Harry barely looked up from his plate and Ginny barely glanced up. Hermione and Ron were eating in companionable silence. The loud and rambunctious Weasley meals seemed a thing of the past looking over this dismal scene.

Almost reluctantly, Beatrice sat down. She gave Moly as warm a smile as she could manage and the woman gave her a sympathetic one in return. Her eyes reflected her gratitude for Beatrice's attempts.

"Pass the pudding?" Beatrice asked to no one in particular. She wasn't sure who levitated it over to her, so she said a general "thank you," although she suspected it was the worn looking Arthur who had yet to set out for the ministry.

She ate quietly, eyes darting to the staircase every couple of bites, until she was almost finished with her plate. She gave up hope at that point of George ever coming down. Instead she began to make him a plate. She placed his toast, tomatoes, beans, sausage, and pudding on his plate, knowing full well it would be in vain. Staring at the completed plate that would just be carried back down with her in the same condition when she brought up dinner, she couldn't stop the words that spilled from her mouth next.

"I miss Fred." As if her mouth had a mind of its own she voiced what everyone was thinking but no one was saying. The word, his name, had become more of a taboo than Voldemort's name in that last year of war. Why? Why should it? Maybe he needed to be remembered more for George to hide less. Beatrice looked up from her thoughts, finding she had still been staring at beans unblinking during this train of thought.

"I miss Fred." She said it again, stronger this time, as she looked over the faces of those sitting around the table. They seemed frozen, in shock from the awareness of being forced to face the elephant in the room. Still no one said anything, she wasn't sure what she expected them to say. Finally she looked at Molly, whose head hung a little heavier as she looked back at Beatrice with wisened and aging eyes.

"We all miss him too dear. We miss all of them too dear." Molly was right. There had been so many casualties and everyone was missed. Molly's eyes seemed to plead with Beatrice not to rock the boat and with a sign she returned her eyes to the plate.

"Andromeda is bringing Teddy by today." Harry surprised them all by saying. Beatrice couldn't help the small smile that turned up just the corners of her mouth. The tiny boy was a bundle of joy that had been like a light in the darkness for many of them. Beatrice stood up, laden plate in hand.

"I'll go tell George." The conversation, she reflected as she went upstairs, although brief had been almost cheerful in the end. She made her way to the door that belonged to Fred and George's room. She gently rapped on the doorframe. There was no answer, but she crept inside the dark room anyway. The curtains were drawn but they didn't completely block out the light and the soft light was enough to see her way through the room to the nightstand where she placed the plate.

She didn't see Fred at first, but her eyes adjusted to him sitting on the far bed, back to her, shoulders slumped.

"Breakfast George." There was no response to her words. She cautiously inched forward until she was standing next to him. Slowly she eased herself down to sit on the bed next to him. She could feel his presence next to her even though the weren't touching and her body cried out for human contact. She felt the familiar feeling of tears trying to claw out her throat and she tried to swallow them back and force them down.

They sat in almost companionable silence for a while before Beatrice broke the silence with her voice.

"Teddy is coming today, with Andromeda." She fidgeted with the edge of the sheet between them. "Harry loves that baby boy like his own. He shouldn't have to, but…" The idea trailed off and she tried to pick up somewhere else, trying not to remember how they could talk of hours seemlessly, that was before.

"It was quiet down at breakfast. I'd never seen anything like it, a quiet Weasley breakfast, but I daresay it's becoming a normal fixture around here. I don't think Ron even got seconds." I felt the ghost of my own smile. She remembered a time George would have launched into merciless teasing at the mention of 'Ronniekins'. Still, he sat unmoving.

"It's always quiet around here now days. Everyone even treads quieter, as if being quiet won't wake up their own grief." She stared thoughtfully at the window now as she spoke, her hand stilling as she thought more deeply. "They all act as if time is the only thing that they need to make it all better. Maybe they do talk, to each other, Harry and Ginny and Hermione and Ron. Sorrow is an easier burden to carry when there are more shoulders to carry it. Sometimes I wonder if they are trying to heal or forget though." She paused, the sounds of her steady breaths the only thing disrupting the peace of the room.

"I'm scared of forgetting. I'm scared we all won't talk about it until we forget how and we spend the rest of our lives forgetting." She stopped trying to force down the lump in her throat. "I said his name today." She could have sworn she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. "I said 'I miss Fred' like it was some grand revelation when we all do. I do. I miss Fred." It was becoming harder to talk around the lump lodged in her airway.

"I miss Fred. I miss hearing him laugh. I miss him playing pranks on me and you pretending you weren't involved. I miss him dragging us back together after we fight. I miss how you two were never apart. I miss Fred. I do." Tears fell freely now, she hardly knew how she always had more to shed.

"I miss you too George." The dam broke then, tiny sobs shaking her own slumped shoulders. "I miss laughing and dancing and singing off key and pranking and kissing. But mostly, I just miss you. Miss what it feels like to be in your arms. I miss the life in your eyes. I miss knowing that when I woke up you'd be there alive. I miss not having to worry that you'd die. I miss knowing that you'd never feel hopeless enough to know you wouldn't do it yourself. I miss the comfort of your love. I miss being close to you and knowing you were right next to me, completely and totally present."

She hardly knew what she was saying anymore, but she couldn't seem to stop the words from coming out after so many weeks of silence.

"I miss Fred. I miss everyone who died." Her next words came out more final than sh intended. "But they are dead George. They aren't coming back. And we have to keep on living. We have to keep on missing them, but we don't have to be drown by it."

They sat in silence then. She had yet to look at George and she couldn't seem to break her trance to do so until she felt the bed rattle with his sobs. Carefully she moved closer, until their forearms touched. She reached out her hand, resting it experimentally on his knee in an attempt at a reassuring gesture. His sobs grew worse and in that moment Beatrice through caution to the wind. She was tired of everyone treating George like a wounded animal.

She drew him into her arms and he seemed to resign himself then, returning the embrace, head resting against her bosom as any tears he had left were let go.

"I love you George. I love you." It was the only thoughts she could say to really bring him any comfort. 'It will all be alright' just seemed like a bold faced lie.


End file.
